Chapter 2: The gala invitation
1074 Words
The afternoon sun filled the small apartment through the solitary one-way window, creating long shadows as it illuminated the room's disorder. Caleb paced before her, toes pressed hard against the unevenly matched wood of the floor, his normally benign features set in frustration.
“You can’t keep doing this, Lily, he said, running a hand through his dark hair.Scraping by, waiting for a miracle. You’re killing yourself trying to save her.”
Lily lifted her gaze from her sketchbook where the charcoal marks were smearing onto her fingertips, as though they were battle scars. "What choice do I have, Caleb? She is all that I have left."
His features became less sharp, but steel never dropped from his gaze. "That's just why you have to take some risks. I found something there that might help."
He grabbed a slim, ivory-white envelope from his pocket, and passed it over the table.
" What's this?" she asked, reaching for it diffidently.
"A ticket to the Blackstone Gala," Caleb said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Lily's heart skipped a beat. "The Blackstone Gala? Are you insane? That's only for people with private jets and bank accounts rather than in the entirety of small countries. I'm just. me.
“Exactly. You’re you. A gifted painter with a life story people will be able to relate to. This is your chance, Lily. Rub elbows with the right people, find someone who believes in your work. Or better yet, a benefactor who can help with your mom’s medical bills.
"I don't know," she whispered.
"You have nothing to lose," Caleb said, softening then. "And everything to gain. What's the worst that could happen?"
Lily's contemplation hours later, the worst that could be, was this.
She stood at the base of the imposing staircase which framed the entrance to Blackstone Manor, her pulse so fast that she was sure it was audible to the valet. An imposing landmark of modern architecture, the house dominated her, its glassy-and-steel skin glimmering in the light of several hundred spotlights.
Her gown was a loan; and the shoes, too tight, gave her toes painful pressure when she gripped the clutch purse for dear life. Guests flowed around her, effortlessly elegant in their designer attire, laughing and chattering as though they belonged in this world.
She, however, felt like a fraud.
"Miss Carter?"
His deep voice first took her, turning to greet a smartly dressed man with a cold, piercing gaze, to which the professional's insensitivity did not yield.
"Yes."
"This way, please."
He beckoned her to come, to take a step-up with him, and through the great double doors of a beautiful spectacle. Inside, the splendor of the room stole her breath. Chandeliers dripped crystals, casting rainbows across marble floors. Softly the music of an orchestra filled the background, their music interplaying and out of step with the murmur of chatter and the polishing sound of glasses.
One she had no right to enter into.
Talk about your art. Be confident. Someone will notice.
And it didn't.
She stood near the edge of the room nursing a glass of champagne she didn't have the courage to drink. Her painting portfolio, hidden beneath her arm, weighed on her like a body of lead.
"Enjoying the gala?
It was a silky, warm voice, and just a bit too intimate. Lily whirred around, almost spilling her drink.
Wide-shouldered, chiseled from granite into a sharp jaw with smoldering blue eyes and the slightest trace of a smirk that relayed he got exactly what he wanted.
"I uh, yes," Lily muttered, stammering while pink tints colored in on her cheeks.
His gaze fell to the portfolio she clutched, and his smirk deepened. "An artist?"
“Yes,” she said, a little more firmly this time. “I”.... She could finish
“Let me guess," he interrupted, his tone teasing but not unkind. “You’re here to find someone to fund your dreams?”
Lily bristled, embarrassment giving way to irritation. "I'm here to find someone who appreciates real art."
His eyebrows rose, clearly intrigued. "Is that so? And what is real art to you?"
It really isn't that money," she said, now perfectly even. "It's about the story, the emotion behind it. Art should make you feel something."
For a brief flash he just stared at her, unreadable expression. Then without warning, he reached a hand out.
"Mason Blackstone," he merely said.
Lilies felt her heart drop to the floor of her gut. Is this him?
She faltered before taking his hand, her palm was sweaty against his firm cool grip.
"Lily Carter."
"Show me," he said nodding toward her portfolio.
Her heart fluttered. "Here? Now?"
"Why not?"
A charcoal drawing of her mum, delicate yet fierce, her gaze full of unvoiced power.
Mason kept at the drawing for an unspecified length of time, an unsolvable gaze. Once he did lift his head, his gaze was more acute and focused.
"This," he said in a quieter voice. "This is real."
Lily blinked, not quite sure if she had heard right. "You think it is?"
"I know it is," he said. That smirk was back again. "But real art deserves a real platform. Not. this." He made a general move towards the gala in front of them.
The card, thin, black and elegant, dropped out of his pocket. "Come to my office tomorrow. Noon. Let's discuss how we can improve and elevate your work."
She stared at the card, her mind reeling. "Why are you doing this?"
Mason's grin became even bigger, but his eyes grew misty with more--something she couldn't quite make out. I guess I just have a talent for spotting opportunities.
Then he disappeared into the crowd, leaving Lily holding on to the card like a lifeline.
Later in the night, back in her apartment, Lily reviewed the evening in her mind, as Mason's words repeated themselves in her mind.
Her cell phone vibrated and she pulled it from her handbag, ready for the word from Caleb. But the number was unknown.
Unknown: You impressed him. But be careful. Mason Blackstone isn't what he seems.
Just a moment later, yet another message arrived, and her blood turned to still water.
Unknown: Ask him about Margaret Carter.
Lilies stared into the screen,
her heart thumping. Her mother's name.
How did they know? What does Mason Blackstone have to do with her mother?
- Writer
